


Compass

by Thighz



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Blood, Limb loss, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Penetrative Sex, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Road Trip, Slow Burn, oc murder, past steve/tony - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:03:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thighz/pseuds/Thighz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bucky returns from his deployment early and missing an arm, he doesn't handle the transition well. In a desperate attempt to keep his best friend sane, Steve devises a plan to get them both out of the city and into the great unknown. Because sometimes when you’re lost, the road is the greatest cure.</p>
<p>For the Steve/Bucky Mini Bang</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compass

 

**  
  
**

The smell of coffee was strong as Steve exited his bedroom, hair wet from a recent shower and wearing nothing but grey sweat pants. The hallway from his bedroom to the living room is a short walk, the bathroom on his left, a closet to his right. He avoids the closed bedroom door at the end of the hall and slips into the small living room.

A soft brown sofa sits in the center, coffee table covered in magazines and an empty bottle of water. On the right, a large bay window opened out into the city of Manhattan, with its busy walkers and fast cars.

He grabs the empty bottle and shuffles to the adjoining kitchen, where a fresh pot of coffee sits warm and cozy on the counter by the microwave. A mug is already beside it and he pours silently, listening to the sounds of a waking city. The clock on the wall tells him he has plenty of time before his first class of the day. So he leans against the counter, mug warm between his hands and breathes in the roasted liquid.

Tired blue eyes flicker up to the closed bedroom door across the room.

His sigh is heavy and sad, but he finishes the coffee, pours another cup, and heads to the front door of his fourth floor apartment to get the paper.

Natasha is across the hall, dressed in a black silk robe, chatting with a blonde man leaving her apartment. Steve sends her a short wave and she replies with a smile as the man begins to descend the stairs.

“Morning Rogers.”

“Morning Nat.” He salutes with the newspaper, “I see Clint is paying his monthly visit.”

She rolls her eyes, “Yea, well. Gotta get my fix somehow.” Her lips quirk up into a somber smile, “Get a new letter?”

Steve flushes, “Ah. No. It’s only been six months, I’m sure he’s just really busy.”

Her frown makes his stomach twist.

So what if he was worried? Six months was the longest since he’d heard from him, but It wasn’t that unheard of. He’s in the middle of the damn desert. Readily accessible phone lines are hard enough to come by, let alone paper and pencil.

A shrill sound interrupts their frowning contest and Steve realizes it is his own cellphone. He lifts a finger and rushes back into his apartment, tossing the newspaper on the counter as he picks the chattering device from its charging spot by the toaster.

“Hello?” He raises the forgotten coffee mug to his lips.

“ _Is this Steven Grant Rogers_?” A professional female voice asks.

Steve blinks, lowers the mug, “Yes ma’am it is.”

“ _I am calling on behalf of Red Cross on the matter of James Buchanan Barnes; you are listed as his contact in case of emergency_.”

The mug slips out of Steve’s hand and crashes to the floor, his face twisting horrifically.

“ _Mr. Rogers_?”

“Y-yes?”

“ _He is currently being admitted into the Manhattan general hospital. His commanding officer will be waiting for you in the second floor waiting area_.”

“T-thank you.” He is already rushing for his coat as he hangs up, shoves the phone into a pocket, and grabs his wallet and keys from the tray by the door.

Natasha is still waiting in her doorway, face worried, “Steve?”

“Bucky’s at the hospital.” He hisses, twisting around the first railing of the stairs and jogging down.

“ _What?!_ ” She shouts, leaning over the edge, “I’ll meet you there!”

Steve doesn’t wait to hear the slam of her door or the rush of her throwing on clothes. He can’t see past the blur of his vision, but he needs it clear as he hits the steps outside the complex and mounts his motorcycle.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The conversation with the gray haired man named Phillips goes as swimmingly as Steve imagined it would on the ride to the hospital. With short words, weary sighs and a gentle clap on his shoulder as the older man departs.

_Caravan blew up on a routine depot assignment, he’s the only survivor, but he’s in bad shape. He was missing for two months, captured by the enemy, held prisoner. It wasn’t pretty, son. Don’t go in there expecting much outta him. We barely got what we did. Just take him home._

Steve stands in front of the door labeled 205, Barnes written in neat letters in the name block at eye level. The doors light colored wood mocks him, luring him into a place he’s afraid to go. Natasha is standing to the side, talking in low tones to a doctor and waving her hands frantically.

“Can I see him?” Steve asks, interrupting their conversation.

The doctor sighs heavily, “I can’t guarantee he’ll talk. He barely knew his own name. The surgeon onsite put it all in the report; he just kept repeating his name and rank.”

“But I can go inside?”

“Only you for now since you are his contact.” He nods, “But if he wants you out, you leave.”

Steve nods hesitantly, reaching for the handle and twisting it as quietly as possible.

The room smells of antiseptic and the lights are dim. He can see the glow of the TV hanging off the wall on the left and the edge of a hospital bed past the bathroom. The steady beat of a heart monitor sends his own heart into his throat and he’s not ready for this. He almost walks back out.

However, he squares his shoulders, prepares for the worst, and shuts the door behind him.

As he shuffles closer, he can see lumps under the sheets belonging to a pair of legs. Up, up, up they went until Steve couldn’t swallow.

When Bucky left for his tour a year and a half ago, he had been clean cut, hair impeccable, and body lean. Now, he looked ragged, haggard; his hair now a long mess of black, face turned to the window and missing his entire left arm.

Bucky’s head swivels at the sound of another body in the room.  

Steve holds his breath, fingers clutching at the fabric of his pants. Knowing that all he has on is a zipped up hoodie and sweat pants, scared as a rabbit, and nervous in front of his best friend.

Something akin to relief flashes over Bucky’s worn features, “Steve?”

Steve’s vision wavers only slightly as he nods and moves around the bed, “Hey Buck.”

Bucky leans back on the bed, a grin flickering across his lips, “You’re bigger.”

Steve glances down at his body, almost as surprised as Bucky is with the change. He _had_ been barely 100 pounds soaking wet when they parted at the airport a year or so ago.

“I ate a lot.” He grins weakly.

Bucky nods, “You look good.”

The silence stretches out between them like cracked glass and Steve hates it. He hates the haunted look in Bucky’s blue-grey eyes as they watch Steve with only a hint of that former recognition.

“I didn’t realize I was your contact.” Steve blurts.

Bucky frowns, “They didn’t call you when I went missing?”

Steve shakes his head and Bucky scowls, “Of fucking course they didn’t. Guess they wanted to be sure I was dead first before they called my family.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve hisses.

Bucky shrugs with his remaining arm, “Yea whatever.” He sighs heavily, staring at the foot of the bed and glancing up under his lashes, “Not the reunion you were expecting?”

Steve pulls the recliner away from the window and takes a seat on Bucky’s right side. He leans forward, arms resting on his knees, “Honestly, Buck? I was just waiting on the next letter. You weren’t due back till next fall. Six months without even a phone call was-.”

Bucky’s face contorts into something painful, “Shit, I’m sorry Stevie.”

“Don’t be.” Steve whispers, “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

Bucky snorts, “Define ‘alright’.”

“Fine. _Alive_.” Steve huffs, “Phillips said that he wants you to go to the VA and get some counseling.”

“I don’t need any fucking counseling.” Bucky hisses, “What I need is to get out of this hospital and find a job.”

Steve frowns, wanting to argue, but says nothing.

Natasha and Sam come in later, with worried faces and eager questions. Sam offers the schedule for the VA meetings, but Bucky turns him down immediately. Sam knows better than to argue. Natasha scowls at him, but like Steve, knows when to pick her battles with the stubborn man.

The doctor shoos them all out right before visiting hours end. Steve sends Bucky one last look and the other man salutes him with his remaining hand.

When Steve shuts the door behind them, Natasha is already waiting, leaning against the wall.

“I know you’re not going to let him skip out on those meetings.” She pushes away and follows as Steve starts walking towards the elevators.  “Steve, seriously.”

“I can’t force him to do anything.” Steve murmurs, pressing the down button, “We can only wait for him to accept that he will need help.”

“He lost his arm.” She whispers, voice cracking with emotion.

“I know.” Steve snaps when they enter the elevator.

As it descends, he tries to ignore Natasha’s soft sniffles. He imagined it had to be hard on her, what with her and Bucky dating right before his deployment. They had been dating since high school, sweethearts ‘till the end Steve would have thought.

She found Clint six months after Bucky deployed.

Bucky never held it against her; he said so in the letter Steve received right after it happened.

“He’s going to be okay, Nat.” Steve puts a hand on her back, rubbing gently, “I’m going to make sure he’s okay.”

She turns to him, eyes puffy and flooded with tears, “How?”

Steve already has it figured out, he had it formulated, and ready the second Bucky’s Commander finished speaking.

“I have a plan.”

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

“ _Someone better be dying_.”

Tony Stark’s irritated voice came with the sound of a welder machine cutting off, but the welder whirling down meant he was in a good mood. Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

“I need your help.”

There is a pause, then an incredulous, “ _Steve_?”

He closes his eyes slowly as that gorgeous baritone washes over him, tugging memories of last summer to the forefront of his mind. He can’t help but smile fondly as he hears Tony drop something, fumble to pick it up and ask, “ _What happened_?”

Steve presses an open hand to his forehead, “Bucky is back.” He wonders if his voice sounds as wrecked as he feels.

“ _Fuck_.” Tony snaps, “ _How bad is it_?” Apparently so.

“He lost his left arm and he is refusing help from anyone.” Steve replies.

“ _Even you_?”

“Especially me, it seems.”

“ _Okay. Well, gorgeous, you know I’d do just about anything for you. Name it_.”

Steve takes in a sharp, painful breath of air.

“How soon can you fly to Manhattan?”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Steve pulls Tony into a bear hug the second he walks through the hospitals sliding glass doors. The shorter man laughs, returning the hug and sharing a handshake with Sam, who is standing beside Steve. Happy waves from the inside of a black limo outside, making sure Tony made it into Steve’s presence safely, before driving off.

“Thank you for coming.” Steve insists.

Tony winks, “Anything for you.” He claps his hands together, “Where’s my patient?”

Sam jerks a thumb at the ceiling, “He’s in physical therapy right now, been a grouch all morning.”

“Wow what a douche.” Tony sneers.

Steve frowns, “I think he has a reason to be grouchy.”

“Yea yea.” Tony waves a hand at them, “Bring me to him.”

Steve and Sam lead the way, up the elevators to the second floor where Bucky’s room is.

The doctor is standing outside said room, talking in a soothing tone to a very distraught-looking blonde woman in blue scrubs. Steve picks up his pace, heart pounding, “Is everything alright?”

The doctor nods, “Just a small episode, someone dropped an item that made a loud noise and he reacted. All very normal for a survivor of trauma.” He pats the woman on the shoulder, “Take the rest of the day, Irene.”

After the shaking woman has disappeared down the hall, the doctor gives the three of them a hard look, “Sorry Mr. Rogers, but I can’t allow anyone to see him until he’s calm.”

The doctors’ orders do not even faze him, “This is Tony Stark.” Steve motions to Tony, who waves with a boyish grin, “He’s here to make Bucky a new arm.”

The doctor’s eyebrows go up into his hairline at the name and they disappear altogether at the mention of the arm, “I don’t think Mr. Barnes's insurance covers something from Stark Industries…”

Tony shakes his head, “I’m not here for my company,” He sets a hand on Steve’s shoulder, “I’m also pretty sure that Steve’s your best bet in calming war hero down in there.”

The doctor sighs irritably, but lets them in, giving an hour warning before he kicks them out.

Steve’s heart twists as he walks into the room, finding Bucky seated on the windowsill, one leg up and the other dangling. He’s dressed in loose blue hospital pants and his upper chest bare save for a bandage around the stump of his left side.  

He turns his head to them as they enter and the hard lines of his face falter when he sees Steve, but that train derails at the sight of Tony. “Who the fuck are you?”

“That’s a great way to greet the man who’s going to give you a new arm.” Tony scoffs, sauntering over, “Stand up straight, shoulders back, chin up.”

Bucky shoots Steve an affronted look over Tony’s shoulder but Steve just crosses his arms and nods. Bucky reluctantly rises to his feet, doing as Tony instructed.

Tony takes measurements, mumbles under his breath, and pokes at Bucky until the other man is steaming. “I can have it done by Friday.” He finally muses, “But he’ll have to come by Stark Tower to have it installed. It won’t be easy; the wounds have healed over and finding the right nerves will be hell.”

“That’s all you.” Sam stated with a stern look at Bucky, “You want the first step to recovery? Well, Stark is offering it.”

Bucky is silent for a long time as he settles back on the windowsill. Steve can feel the anxiety swirling in his chest, but he can only imagine what Bucky is thinking right now.

Eventually, Bucky nods once and they all breathe easy. Tony shakes Sam’s hand again, whispers some encouragement to Steve, and pulls a sleek cellphone out to call his ride. As he barks orders into the phone, Sam announces he’s needed at work and wishes them the best before leaving.

Once the room clears, the silence settles over them and Steve takes a seat in the chair next to Bucky’s dangling leg.

“Who was that?” Bucky mutters.

“An old friend.” Steve replies, patting Bucky’s leg, “Tony’s the best. Anything mechanical is his forte.”

Those dark, blue-grey eyes settle on Steve, who fidgets in his chair. He knows that look. It’s the same look Bucky gave him to fess up about Peggy Carter kissing him after senior prom.

“No man flies across the country to just ‘help out a friend’.” Bucky grunts, “You can tell me Steve, since you obviously couldn’t in our letters.”

That stings, but Steve rolls over it, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head away from his best friend’s stern gaze, “Remember when I took that summer internship at the art studio in Malibu?”

Bucky nods, “The summer after I left. Hard to forget. You used up an entire page trying to explain.”

Steve flushes with a soft laugh, “Yea, sorry about that, but it was exciting. I met Tony at my first opening, his CEO insisted he attend the event in his honor and we ‘hit it off’ as they say.” He shrugs, “We spent the summer together.”

The admission is soft, almost as if Steve is afraid to admit that he spent an entire three months warming the bed of Tony Stark. However, when he finally meets Bucky’s eyes, they are not judgmental, just sad.

“You could have told me Stevie.” Bucky whispers, voice tinged with despair, “I wouldn’t have cared.”

Steve smiles slowly, squeezing Bucky’s knee, “I know. Trust me, Nat fussed at me for a month after I got back, but I didn’t want anything to change between us.”

Bucky shakes his head, “All this time and you’re still a punk.”

The insult makes Steve laugh and shove the leg away, “Yea yea. Jerk.”

**  
  
**

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

**  
  
**

Stark Tower is just as big and ugly as it was the first time Steve stood up close to it. Sure, he saw it in passing, but Tony spent the majority of his time in California, so Steve’s need to be anywhere near it diminished with their relationship.

The giant glass building was a beacon of clean energy, according to Tony, self-sustaining and able to hold itself bright for a year.

Now, Steve wasn’t worried about fresh energy and bright, egotistical geniuses’ pick-up lines. He was trying to keep a nervous Bucky from hailing a taxi and bolting back to their shared apartment.

“I don’t really need an arm.” Bucky mumbles for the fifteenth time.

Steve scowls, “Tony worked really hard on this.”

Bucky bounces from foot to foot, right hand patting absently as his empty shoulder, “I know, just don’t want to be indebted to a dude I’ve only met a handful of times.”

Steve puts a hand at the center of Bucky’s back and shoves him forward, “You don’t want to go to the meetings. You don’t want to talk. Fine. I’ve let that slide, Buck, but you _will_ go in and accept your new body part. You deserve _something_.”

Bucky allows himself to be manhandled into the building. Happy greets them with a wave and presses the buttons needed to send them down to Tony’s lab.

When they arrive, Tony already has an entire crew, introducing the main surgeon as Bruce Banner. They exchange introductions and Steve doesn’t fail to notice Bucky’s eyes darting around cautiously at the surroundings.

“He’ll be under for a while.” Bruce smiles gently, his face worn, but kind, “You may want to go upstairs.” He suggests to Steve.

Steve frowns instantly, “But-.”

Tony interrupts, “How about I get Happy to show you the garage? You’ll need one of my rides, yea?”

Steve scowls at Tony as Bucky sends him a curious look, “Are you going somewhere?”

Tony winces, “Shit, I ruined the surprise, didn’t I?”

Steve waves it off, “I’ll tell you later. Yea. I’ll go find Happy.” He turns to Bucky, “You’ll be okay?”

Bucky seems unsure for a moment, but nods tentatively and follows when Bruce motions him to. As they disappear behind a set of fogged glass doors, Steve feels Tony’s warm hand squeeze his bicep. “Don’t worry; I won’t let anything happen to him.”

“I know.” Steve swallows thickly, “He’s just-.”

“Go upstairs. Relax. Find the library and read a book.” Tony’s smile turns flirtatious, “I know how much you love it there.”

Steve’s face heats up as he shoves Tony away and heads for the elevator.

“I’ll have Jarvis alert you as soon as he’s up!”

Steve gives him a thumb up and closes his eyes as the doors shut slowly, erasing Tony, and the lab from view.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

**  
  
**

Nervous doesn’t even begin to cover what Bucky is feeling. Scared, perhaps or jumpy, because that is an awful lot of medical equipment.

The room is pale blue, with a wall of fogged glass, a single operating table and shiny metal carts loaded with instruments Bucky wouldn’t be able to pronounce on a good day. He suddenly wishes Steve were still with him.

Stark enters the room, now dressed like the other surgeon and carrying a large metal box. Bruce takes it from him, gently setting it on the table and gathering the cords connected to a large computer screen hanging from the ceiling.

“Take off your shirt please, Mr. Barnes.” Bruce commands.

Bucky does so methodically, handing it to Tony, who folds it and sets it on an empty metal cart by the door.

“Now,” Bruce holds up the cords, “These will be attached to you while you’re under, it will keep track of your heart rate. Jarvis will inform of us if anything changes during the operation.”

Bucky frowns, “Jarvis?”

“ _At your service, sirs_.” A robotic English voice replies.

“Jarvis is our nurse.” Tony snickers, “He’ll be monitoring your heart rate, brain activity and controlling the sedative.”

Bucky nods, taking a deep breath and watching as Bruce starts cutting away at the bandages around his upper torso. Bruce then lowers him back onto the bed.

The nerves jump skyward again and Bucky winces as his stomach roils.

_Don’t go there. You can do this._ He chants in his head repeatedly.

“Doing alright there?” Tony ask, “I’m going to attach the suckers and Bruce will get your vein for the sedative.”

Bucky nods again, closing his eyes to block out the bright white of the room. He inhales sharply, trying not to flinch as quick, deft hands run over his body. Tony and Bruce exchange small talk as the needle enters the crook of his elbow and a soothing finger caresses the inside of his wrist.

“Still good?” Tony asks.

“Yea.” Bucky is not going to cry at the gentle way they are handling him. A stark difference from his two-month vacation overseas in a dark, musky prison. He mentally shakes that thought away.

“The sedative will have an immediate effect.” Tony warns, “Jarvis will start out slow and once your body accepts it, you’ll fall right to sleep.”

“Alright.” Bucky agrees, finally opening his eyes, “Let’s do this.”

Tony snaps his fingers, “Jarvis, sedative at five percent.”

“ _Yes, sir_.”

Stark wasn’t kidding about the immediate effect. His body goes gloriously warm in seconds, toes tingling and shoulders finally relaxing into the frame of the bed. He can sort of make out Bruce’s lean figure fumbling with tools to his right and Tony is watching him patiently on his left.

_Tony. Tony. Tony._

Steve’s well-kept secret.

“You slept with my best friend.” He slurs.

Tony blinks before his face melts into a wry grin, “No use in denying it, I suppose.”

Bucky snorts, “Punk dinnt even bother tellin’ me ‘till a week ‘go.”

“We weren’t exclusive.” Tony shrugs in reply.

Bucky tries to make his foggy brain work and attempt to form his slackened face into a threatening scowl, “You break ‘is heart?”

“More like he broke mine.” Tony pats his cheek, “You worry about falling asleep. Jarvis.”

“ _Of course sir_.”

Bucky blinks once, twice, and in seconds, the world goes dark.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Seven hours later, after a dozen books on botany, half a season of Bones and two full meals, Steve finally hears the elevator doors behind him ding. He’s currently in the penthouse living room, surrounded by glass on his left side, curled up on Tony’s warm, black sofa.

Tony is the only one who steps out. He’s dressed down in a black muscle tank and worn jeans, satisfied grin on his face. “One of my greatest successes if I do say so myself.”

Steve lets out the breath he’d been holding in, “Has he woken up?”

“Jarvis is getting him sober as we speak.”

Steve slumps back into the couch, “I can’t even begin to tell you what this means to me.”

“Oh.” Tony whispers softly, “I know.” He takes a seat at his side, “You think he’s ready for what you want to do?”

“Will the arm be ready?” Steve asks.

“Of course.” Tony scoffs, sending him an affronted look, “I’m the best, but if you have any problems with it, you know my number gorgeous.”

Steve smiles softly, “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I am sorry.” He takes Tony’s hand and squeezes gently, “For everything.”

Tony shakes his head, “I knew it was going to happen. Don’t beat yourself up.” He stands, “You just get your boy right.” As Tony makes his way to the elevator, he pauses, reaches into his pocket, and takes out a set of keys.

“Hey, Rogers.”

Steve turns back from his book just as Tony tosses the keys; he catches them easily and grins, “Thanks.”

“Don’t trash my place.” Tony winks and disappears through the steel doors.

Steve opens his palm up to reveal a set of silver and gold keys all labeled, front, back, and garage. He rises from the sofa, tucks the keys into his jeans, and heads down to the lab.

**  
  
**

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

**  
  
**

Bucky’s head is fuzzy and he can hear voices chatting around him. The world is swimming, or is that his body? He blinks against the bright lights beaming down at him from the ceiling and lifts his left arm to shield it.

Wait. He doesn’t have a left arm.

His body jerks up, eyes wide and brain kicking into restart mode as the world comes into focus around him.

“You’re awake.” Steve’s voice is a welcome balm and his shock wears away. He’s safe here, wherever he is.

His eyes dart down to stare at his left arm.

His _new_ arm.

It gleams under the lights, polished chrome glistening as he twists it around. The plates shift seamlessly as he bends the arm and a new sort of wonder fills his chest. He curls each finger into the palm, rotating and lifting it above his head. It flexes with ease, there is no pain in his shoulder. Actually, there is no feeling at all in the limb.

“You like it?”

Bucky’s face turns up to look at Tony, who is grinning manically with his hands behind his back.

“It’s….beautiful.” Bucky whispers reverently, “How did you..?”

“Let’s just say I’m a super genius and leave it at that.” Tony shrugs.

“No need to be modest.” Steve rolls his eyes, he then fixes Bucky with an excited grin, “You really like it?”

Bucky nods, “I feel like it’s a bit much, but yea.”

“It doesn’t register feeling yet, just pressure,” Tony says, “I haven’t worked out all the prototypes for that, but if you’re willing in the future, I’d be more than happy to install that upgrade.”

Bucky shakes his head, “No-I mean yea-I mean sure.”

Steve sets a hand on his right shoulder, “We’ll discuss it on the way.”

Bucky tilts his head curiously, “Wait, are we going somewhere?”

“I’ll explain on the way home.” Steve replies, “I’m going to get the car. Tony?”

Tony nods, “Got a few more tests I’d like to preform before you head out.” He pulls out an electronic pad, “Jarvis, keep a digital record of this.”

“ _Ready when you are sir_.”

Bucky watches as Steve exits the lab before returning his gaze to Tony, who is watching him.

“Alright, let’s do this.” Tony circles around him, stopping by his arm and putting stylus to pad, “Lift it up, down and side to side.”

Bucky does as he’s instructed, staring in awe at how easily his brain tells his nerves to move the metal limb. It isn’t difficult; it feels almost weightless and for a short moment, he feels no loss, no depression. Just elation and a small trickle of hope buried deep under the heavy weight of his memories.

“No pain?” Tony asks.

Bucky shakes his head, “Feels normal-ish.”

“Well, the painkillers are keeping it from throbbing like a bitch.” Tony chuckles, “Steve has your meds, something for the pain and the swelling.” He points his stylus at the joint where his flesh meets metal, “It’s gonna swell a bit and ache something fierce, but in a few weeks’ time it’ll be at 100%. So take it easy.”

“Okay.” Bucky acknowledges.

Tony continues the check-up, poking and prodding at the chrome, asking random questions and jotting shorthand down on the pad.

“What is Steve planning?” He inquired, “That he needs one of your cars?”

He feels tiny and small as Tony glances up from his work pad, all goatee, dark intense eyes and Bucky swallows. “Oh. You two going somewhere together?”

“What? No.” Tony exclaims, waving a hand at him, “God no. You just got home, it’d be stupid for me to try again, I mean, shit he left me ages ago. Rightfully so too, because I’m a narcissistic asshole and he’s-.” Tony searches for the right word.

“Not?”  Bucky offers.

“Exactly.” Tony grins, “He’s doing this for you, war hero.”

“Doing what for me?” Bucky demands, slumping forward, “Why is it some big secret? I’m _tired_ of secrets.”

Tony blinks, “Whoa, whoa big guy, chill.” He sets the pad aside, “It’s nothing bad, I swear. I’m just helping him to help you.”

“ _Why_?”

“Because you deserve it.” Tony throws up his hands, “You’re stressing him out, he’s worried about you, Nat’s worried about you. You won’t go to the fucking meetings and they’re at their wits end, so Steve came up with a backup plan.” He shoves his finger against Bucky’s noise, causing him to go cross-eyed, “You are going to say yes when he tells you, you are going to smile and nod and take what Steve’s offering.”

Bucky swallows down the demand to stay out of his business, he knows Steve is stressed. He knows that he is causing his best friend in the entire world to lose sleep because he can’t go one night without waking up screaming.

He didn’t ask for this.

“Fine.” He agrees anyway, swinging his legs off the table and setting them on the floor. It’s cold so he searches out his shoes, slips them on and slides to his feet.

Tony watches him dubiously, returning to his pad and whispering commands to Jarvis.

Bucky opens the glass door to leave just as Tony calls out, “Elevator, floor B. He’ll be outside waiting.”

**  
  
**

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The car ride is silent, daunting and Steve can feel tension thick in the air. He knows without asking that Tony said something to upset him. It’s in the firm set of Bucky’s jaw and the furrow between his brow. However, Bucky says nothing, asks nothing and the silence continues.

He picked Tony’s black Audi for comfort only, not the stylish lights or excellent gas mileage. Bucky looks cozy enough, despite the tick in his eye and the constant drumming of metal appendages on the center console.

Steve sighs, “Just say it Buck.”

Bucky’s scowl darkens, “It’s fine. I just want to go home.”

“We’re only going home to pack.” Steve informs airily.

That gets Bucky’s attention and he turns fully in his seat, “What?”

Steve points to him, “You and I,” And back to himself, “Are going to a road trip.”

“To _where_?” Bucky asks incredulously; face slack in surprise, the tension bleeding out of it instantly.

“Malibu, California.” Steve replies happily, fingers relaxing around the wheel of the car as he turns into their apartment’s garage, “Tony has a house there, and I figured we could drive, relax, and get you away from the stress of trying to settle back into civilian life.”

Bucky shakes his head, a ridiculous grin spreading across his features, “Steve, that’s across the country, that’s a week, maybe _two_ of driving.”

“Longer actually,” Steve corrects, “I have a list of places that Sam and Nat suggested we stop and visit.”

They both exit the car, heading towards the stairs and climbing up to the fourth floor. Nat’s door is wide open and Steve pokes his head in, “Nat, a sec?”

She glances up from her spot on the floor. She’s dressed in black pjs with orange cats on them and surrounding her are various maps, a small laptop and printed sheets of paper; she grins, “How did it go?”

Bucky swings his new arm around, waves it. Her grin widens and she pushes herself to bare feet, striding over and pulling him into a hug. He tenses at the feel of it, glances at Steve out of the corner of his eye. She draws back instantly, apologizing, “Whoops, sorry.”

“Naw.” He shakes his head, “Gotta get used to people touching me again.”

Her smile is weak, but she shakes it off and turns to Steve, “Just marking a few more spots for you, Tony’s car has built in GPS yea?”

Steve nods, following her into the apartment and waiting patiently as she gathers up all the papers neatly, setting the list on the top and handing it to him. Bucky watches from the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. They look comfortable together; Nat in her pjs and Steve talking to her like it’s another ordinary day.

He wonders just how much he missed in the last two years.

Steve turns with a grin, waves the papers in the air, “Ready to get packed?”

“Have fun you two!” Nat calls as they walk across the hall to their own apartment, “Drive safe.” She leans against the frame of her door, lips formed into a sad arch, “Keep me posted.”

“I’ll keep him in line.” Bucky claps a hand to Steve’s shoulder and blue eyes scowl at him.

“Yea right, jerk. It’ll be me keeping your ass in line.”

They walk into the apartment arguing playfully and something tightens in Bucky’s chest. He missed bantering with Steve, flirting with Natasha, beer nights with Sam. He helps Steve get their bags together, shoving shirts, pants, and underwear into duffels. Steve gathers their bathroom items, cellphone chargers, and a few blankets from the top shelf of the linen closet.

Bucky sits on the couch as Steve flutters around with the final checklist, making sure they have everything they need before disappearing into his bedroom to double check.

Two or more weeks in a cramped car with Steve won’t be easy, he already knows this. More often than not, he falls asleep randomly and wakes up with a dead soldiers name on his lips and the echo of a bomb ringing in his ears.

Steve’s been a help so far, even stopped insisting he go to Sam’s VA meetings. He knows he’s being a stubborn jackass about them. ‘Admitting you need help is the first step,’ Phillips had said to him after he signed his ‘honorably discharged’ papers.

_Ain’t no shame in asking a friend for help._

Bucky glances up when he realizes Steve is calling his name.

“You okay?” Worried blue eyes regard him cautiously.

He plasters on a tight smile, “Sorry, lost in my own head.”

Steve fiddles with something in his hands, “We don’t have to go. It was just…I thought a road trip would help.”

Bucky stands, crosses the room, and reaches out for Steve’s hands with his right, “It’s a great idea, Stevie. What’cha got there?”

Steve stops fiddling long enough to open his palms and reveals a tarnished, golden compass. Bucky’s throat tightens at the sight of it, his fingers digging into the flesh of the wrist he holds in his hand, “That’s-.”

“Yea.” Steve whispers, “The compass your pa gave me.”

Bucky remembered it.

He’d almost cried that day, standing around his pa’s bed, the older man riddled with cancer and his mom crying in the bathroom. Steve’s dad had died when he was little, so Bucky’s had been the only father he’d known. He treated Steve as if Steve was his own and when his father had taken Steve’s hand and set his old army compass in the palm of it, Steve _had_ cried.

“I wanted to give it to you,” Steve swallows, “It’s stupid.”

“No.” Bucky whispers urgently, “I don’t want to take it from you.”

Those gorgeous blue eyes stare him down, “You need it more than I do right now.” Steve removes Bucky’s right hand and sets the compass in the center of it, pushing his fingers to curl over the top. “In case you get lost.”

It takes all of Bucky’s willpower not to cry.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dawn streaks the sky in hues of pink and yellow, the sun a sliver of sunflower on the horizon. The highway is an open streak of black asphalt, cars blurring on both sides. The air conditioner is on full blast, 80’s music drifting from the Audi’s speakers and Bucky is laid back in the passenger seat, right arm behind his head, left holding a cup of steaming Starbucks coffee.

The maps are strewn on the floorboard of Bucky’s side of the car, some on the center console, the GPS a green line in the direction they want to go.

“Where we heading first?” Bucky slurs, bringing the coffee cup to his mouth.

“Washington D.C.” Steve states proudly, “Home of the Smithsonian.”

“Whoa.” Bucky nods, “Sounds like a party. Why there?”

Steve shrugs, “Sam suggested it. We also have…” He reaches down to rustle through the papers on the console, “Uh…”

Bucky sticks his coffee in the cup holder and slaps Steve’s hand, “I’ll get it. Itinerary right?” He picks up a sheet of paper with Natasha’s intricate, looping handwriting on it.

His face softens at the list and the tiny scribbles on the edge of the paper.

  * _The Smithsonian – can’t go wrong with this one, it’s fucking free_

  * _Appalachian Mountains- I suggest Montreat North Cara. Gorgeous down there. Also, the Odinson’s live there. Hit them up Steve._

  * _New Orleans – go get drunk you guys. Double drunk for Sam and I._

  * _Yellowstone- this is a little off the beaten path, but it’s gorgeous and totally worth the drive_

  * _Malibu, Ca – you have reached your destination. Congrats. Enjoy the beach, get a tan James._




__

“That’s a long list.” Bucky chuckles, “Sure we can do it all?”

Steve shoots him a scowl, “Of course we can. We have all the time in the world.”

He ignores the skeptical look Bucky sends him and returns his gaze to the road as they zipped past yet another sign reading: _Washington D.C. 100 miles_. He hopes this is a good idea. Running it by Natasha and Sam was one thing; they jumped on board before the words finished exiting his mouth. However, Bucky was still fragile and moody. He snapped more often than not and it was hard for him to keep up. Steve was grateful for Tony’s constructing of the arm. Bucky’s mood improved some after the surgery and for that, Steve felt that he had no way to repay Tony for getting a sliver of his best friend back.

“Thinkin’ real hard there Steve.” Bucky snickers from his right.

“Just enjoying the view.” Steve replies.

Bucky offers to drive a few times, at every gas stop and bathroom break. Steve refuses each offer with a tepid smile. The trip isn’t for Steve to relax; it’s Bucky’s vacation.

They sail through miles of highway and interstate, wooded areas and pastures alike. He knows there’s so much more to come and the idea of seeing even just a fraction of the world is exciting. Maybe he’ll even get a chance to draw it.

**  
  
**

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Smithsonian is huge. Gigantic. Awe-inspiring.

“Whoa.” Bucky whistles as they climb the steps into the first building.

It’s even bigger than Bucky imagined, especially after all the times Sam boasted about seeing it during his first station at the pentagon. People stood scattered around the courtyards, holding pamphlets or jogging down the stairs to head to the next building. The grass was an almost perfectly cut green, the air mild and nippy, but gorgeous all the same.

He glances at Steve, who is smiling his sunshine smile at a pretty brunette running the information desk. She hands him a pamphlet of his own with a flirty flourish and Bucky chuckles when Steve looks momentarily confused.

Steve always had been oblivious at the best of times. Not many women looked twice at him in their younger years, which baffled Bucky because Steve may have been small, but he was anything and everything a girl could ask for.

Their loss now that Steve’s tastes ran in a different direction.

If he had known-

“Ready?” Steve’s voice interrupts his thoughts, waving a large map to the grounds in his face.

Bucky blinks, “Yea, sure. Where to first?”

He follows Steve to every building on the lot, from air and space to history from all over the world. It was breath taking, informational,and it eased the tension between his shoulder blades. He didn’t realize how much he needed it until Steve started dragging him around.

The tours actually helped.

Steve’s laughter helped. Along with his bright smiles and enthusiastic need to dart from plaque to plaque, reading each one out to Bucky, who listened patiently, secretly ecstatic with the onslaught of information.

They eat lunch in the food court, sipping milkshakes and sharing a basket of ketchup smothered fries.

“This place is amazing.” Steve grins around his straw.

“Gotta admit it,” Bucky leans back in his chair, tugging his hoodie sleeve down to keep his arm from view, “It’s a great idea. Remind me to thank Sam.”

Steve nods, “He liked to run near the monument in the mornings.” He points to a place on the map.

“We staying the night?” Bucky smirks, “Want to run it in the morning?”

Steve perked up, “Yes please?”

Bucky watches as Steve slurps the rest of his milkshake, pointing at different areas on the map and explaining their history. The tall, broad shouldered blond across the table is everything and nothing like the boy he left behind two years ago. Steve had been fresh into college and skinny as all get out, standing outside the security area at the airport with the saddest face. Bucky had damn near cried.

He pulls himself from the memory and leans forward against the table, “So, when did you decide to-.” He waves at Steve’s body for emphasis.

“Oh.” Steve pats down the front of his blue shirt, stretched tight across his muscular pectorals as if he had forgotten all about his new size, “Just got tired of being tiny. Sam and uh…Clint took me to the gym, fed me advice, spotted me. Few months later I put on weight, over a hundred pounds.” He shrugged, “Got help with some of my medical problems and of course,” he rolls his eyes, “While I was dating Tony, he insisted that he help with my health.”

Bucky’s stomach twists unpleasantly at that. Part of him is glad, happy even, that Steve had so many friends to lift him up and cheer him on. The other part is dark and jealous, spiking in the back of his throat and making it painful to swallow. It was his job to take care of Steve. He was the one who picked Steve up off the concrete, nose bloody and blue eyes fierce every time a fight broke out. He took care of the asthma attacks and the bronchitis when it struck. He was the one who convinced Steve that joining the military was not a way to save the world.

Joining the army had been another way to ensure Steve didn’t do it anyway.

“You okay?” Steve frowns, “We don’t have to stay the night…”

“No.” Bucky shakes it off, “Let’s get a hotel, enjoy the night, we can leave after your run.”  

Seeing Steve’s face light up was a treasure and as he babbled on and on about what else they could accomplish with the rest of their day, Bucky couldn’t help but relax further.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Bucky joins Steve for the morning jog around the Washington monument and it entails three miles of bickering and egging each other on. They race the last mile around, shoving each other into the grass at the end of it, laughing throatily, and staring up at the clear sky.

Steve can’t wipe the smile off his face and as he pushes up to his elbows, he notices Bucky’s the same. Devoid of the constant scowl, those beautiful grey eyes are staring up at the sky as if it held all the answers. He spots a blade of grass on his cheek and the urge to dust it away over powers his instinct not to touch.

Bucky doesn’t even flinch as Steve presses fingers to his face, brushing away the blade of grass and smiling nervously down at him, “Grass.”

“Sure.” Bucky smirks, “You use that line on Stark?”

Steve sputters, “What- _No_. He hit on me.”

Bucky laughs, tucking both arms behind his head and enjoying the warmth of the sun. “I figured as much, you don’t know how to _flirt_.”

“I resent that.” Steve huffs, sitting up fully and scowling down at his best friend, “I had to flirt back didn’t I? Otherwise we woudn’t have hit it off at all.”

Bucky makes a face, “Very true.” He sighs then, heavy and forlorn, “I still wish you had told me.”

Steve pushes a hand through his own hair, “I wanted to tell you more than anyone.”

“I believe you.” Bucky nods.

They sit for a while longer, enjoying people watching and soaking up the sun before another long car ride. Steve pulls the paper with their destination list out of his shorts pocket, unfolding it carefully, “Where to next?” Bucky asks from his left.

“Montreat, North Carolina.” Steve replies, reminding himself to find a pen in the car and cross out Smithsonian.

“Sounds relaxing.” Bucky returns.

“Nat said it’s meant to be. Beginning of fall is supposed to be the best time to go, which is about now.” Steve nods, “There’s a bed and breakfast in the mountains and about a forty minute drive away is this place called Chimney Rock. Says it’s a great hike up.”

“I like that plan.” Bucky stands up, dusting the grass off his running sweats and puts his right hand out to help Steve.

Steve takes it and easily pushes to his feet, tucking the list away again as they head towards the lot where they parked the car.

Once they’re on the road again, Bucky presses in the GPS address for the bed and breakfast and they’re heading for Carolina.

It’s a day’s drive and Bucky sleeps through most of it. Steve keeps the radio on an oldies station, the low, crooning vocals a perfect mix for the long drive.

Steve calls Natasha after they stop for dinner and her voice is a welcome gift. She sounds so excited to hear from them and asks to speak to Bucky. He begrudgingly agrees, mumbling into the receiver. Steve tunes them out, knowing that she’s making sure he’s not giving Steve a hard time. No need to embarrass Bucky any more than he already feels.

When Bucky hangs up and sets the phone in one of the cup holders, he huffs.

“She making sure you’re being a good boy?” Steve snickers.

“Oh laugh it up Rogers.” Bucky grumbles, “And yes, it’s _Natalia_ so of course she is.”

They ride in silence once again, music swelling between them and the cool interior of the car soothing.

Steve can feel his body fighting for sleep and he knows that the thirteen hours he’s been driving is starting to take its toll. He wonders if they should stop and start again in the morning.

Bucky growls from next to him, “You’re next to passed out Steve, let me drive.”

Steve shakes his head determinately, “No. This is your trip, I’m just the driver.”

“And the trip will be cut short if you crash the car from sleep exhaustion.” Steve notices immediately that Bucky reaches his right arm across the seats to grip his bicep instead of the metal one. “Let me drive.”

Steve mulls it over for a minute, and then slows the car to a stop on the side of the dimly lit highway and sighs, “Fine.”

“Finally.” Bucky groans, unbuckling his seatbelt and exiting the car.

They switch sides and Steve isn’t above admitting that he’s pouting, arms crossed over his chest, “I wanted to do this myself.”

“Yea yea.” Bucky snorts, putting them back on the interstate just as the sun finishes setting, “We have what, seven hours left? We’ll get there by sun up if we’re lucky.”

Steve just pouts out the window.

Bucky rolls his eyes and punches his shoulder, “Get some sleep, punk.”

Despite his protests and the pouting, that’s exactly what Steve does.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The colors that assault Bucky as they pull into the city of Montreat are staggering. Every tree is alight in orange, red, yellow and he is suddenly very glad Natasha had stuffed her camera into his bag before they left. The mountains are deliriously gorgeous. They tower high over the small town, trees golden and green along their sides, tops capped in small sections of white. Clouds gather at their peaks, sending sunlight through the sheer puffs and casting shimmering rays across the hills.

Steve is in equal awe on his right, hands on the dashboard and staring around wildly at the scenery. He makes a mental note to pick up a sketchpad and pencils later. He’s sure Steve will want to draw it and Bucky wants to sit and watch. It feels like forever since he’s seen Steve draw.

“Can we stay here?” Steve asks, “Forever?”

Bucky snickers, “Don’t forget you have an actual job back home.” He takes the turn instructed by the GPS onto a windy mountain road.

They pull into the bed and breakfast’s small dirt road twenty minutes later. The simple two-story cottage is various shades of blue, with white accents on the shutters and doors. Weeping willows curve over a small pond on its left and red blooms litter well-trimmed bushes lining a wrap-around porch.

The door to the cottage opens as they park the car and a wispy brunette waves to them from the front porch.

“Jane!” Steve cries, jumping out of the car and jogging across mosaic stepping-stones, pulling the woman into a crushing hug as she meets him at the foot of the steps.

She laughs, insisting he put her down as Bucky walks up, their bags slung over his shoulders. “Welcome.” She breathes, “You must be James.” She avoids his left hand knowingly and Bucky feels a mixture of relief and disappointment as she grasps his right, “I’m Jane Foster-I mean-Odinson. _Ugh_. Marriage.” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

“Has the grand Steve arrived?” A booming voice from the inside of the house startles Bucky into looking away from Jane.

A tall, mountain of a blonde man emerges through the doorframe, dressed in worn jeans and a red plaid button up, “He has!” He joins them at the base of the steps, pulling Steve into a bone-crushing hug and patting him on the back, “Welcome to the Carolina of the North!”

“This is Thor.” Steve introduces, catching his breath, “They’re friends of Tony’s.”

“Nice to meet cha’.” Bucky nods, shaking Thor’s hand as it’s offered to him, “Thanks for having us.”

Jane shoves brown hair out of her face, “Oh it’s a pleasure. When Steve called and asked if you could stay, I couldn’t say no. It’s so wonderful to see you again Steve.” She starts up the steps, “Your rooms are on the second floor, end of the left hallway. The right one is Steve, left is you James. Kitchens down the hall, past the stairs on the left. That’s where I’ll be.”

“Not cooking.” An irritated voice snaps as they all slip through the front door.

Bucky blinks as a voluptuous woman wearing a dark red sweater and skinny jeans, dark hair tied up in a ponytail, comes down the stairs.

“I cook.” Jane hisses.

“Yea. In the lab under the house.” The woman smiles, “I’m Darcy, Jane’s maid. Resident cook.” Her eyes light up, “Steve!”

Something warm unfurls in Bucky’s chest as Steve pulls Darcy into a hug. Steve’s friends never cease to amaze him. Despite his shy nature in the past, people gravitate to him so easily.

“You must be Bucky.” Darcy sighs dreamily, “You are as gorgeous as Tony said you would be.”

Bucky chuckles, “Thank you ma’am.”

Darcy swoons, “He called me _ma’am_.”

Jane snatches her arm, “Oh come on, before you start drooling.” They disappear down the hall and Thor laughs.

“Never a dull day here.”

“I bet.” Steve grins, “Let’s go get settled in.” He pushes his shoulder against Bucky’s.

Bucky takes in the house as they walk along the light brown paint of the foyer, up the plush, cream carpet on the stairs. The hallway to their rooms is light blue, with soft paintings of flowers that Bucky recognizes immediately as Steve’s work. They pass a bathroom on the left just before Bucky’s door and it’s decorated with a gorgeous ceramic floor and claw-foot tub. That’ll be an adventure.

Steve enters his room and Bucky opens his door slowly, carefully, old habits telling him to be cautious about what’s behind a closed door. It’s stupid and foolish, he knows he’s not in a war zone, that he’s safe in a homey little house in the middle of North Carolina, but the instinct is hard to snuff. He instead focuses on the inside of his temporary home.

The room is simple and elegant, with dark red accents and a large, queen-sized bed in the center. The furniture is sparse and a single window peeks out into the front yard, where he can see the Audi parked. He sets his bag on the bed before bouncing on it himself, his body sinking down into plushosity.

Steve enters his room, breathless and grinning, “Buck, you gotta come see this.”

Bucky pushes himself to his feet, following Steve into his own room. It’s dark blue, with white carpet and oak furniture. The room doesn’t have a window, but a glass door leading onto a balcony covered in dense, dark roses.

The view is beautiful.

Bucky sighs happily and leans into the railing, staring out into the colored mass of autumn trees.

“Glad we came?” Steve whispers.

“You have no idea.” Bucky replies, rubbing a thumb over the fabric of his hoodie where the metal arm rests, “You forget when you’re in the desert, all gun fire, and heat that somewhere in the world things are still beautiful. That somewhere there isn’t shouting and screaming and death.”

He doesn’t look at Steve, doesn’t want to see the pity, “So I’d close my eyes and picture grass, that sunny little spot behind my parents’ house where we used to picnic?”

“I remember.” Steve’s voice is soft, as if replaying the memory himself, “Your momma would bring us lemonade and tuna salad sandwiches.”

Yea, Bucky thinks softly, they had been down to their swim trunks, wet from the sprinkler and baking in the hot Brooklyn sun. He remembers his ma, simple and lovely, carrying a tray of food across the bright green lawn.

“I pictured that on my bad days.” Bucky mutters.

“Figured you’d picture Nat.” Steve chuckles, “Not us being fools in the summer.”

Bucky’s chuckle is nervous, “Well, it’s hard to picture someone who broke up with you six months into your deployment.” He glances over at Steve and watches as he visibly winces.

“Sorry.”

“Nah.” Bucky shrugs, “Don’t blame her. Two years is a long time to wait for someone.”

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The words _‘I waited for you’_ are caught in the back of Steve’s throat. Because, although it’s true, Steve did wait, month after month and letter after letter, he still had moments where he forgot. Where he was so lost in his own life, that Bucky wasn’t a thought until the guilt hit him like a punch to the gut. It cost him a lot. More than he was willing to share.

So instead, he brushes their shoulders together; his warm flesh one against the hard, unyielding metal of Bucky’s left.

“You still got the compass?” Steve whispers.

Bucky nods, “It’s in the bottom of my pack.”

A strange place to keep it, stuffed under all of Bucky’s belongings, but Steve tilts his head and watches Bucky take in the landscape. He wonders if Bucky really is lost and just afraid to admit it.

Jane calls them down for lunch and the moment is broken. They go down together, joining the trio seated around a large dining room table inside the large, checkerboard kitchen. There are chicken salad sandwiches, strawberry lemonade, and tiny little crackers with cheddar cheese slices in the center of the table.

Darcy grins, “Eat up boys. Ya’ll have a busy two days.”

“Thanks.” Bucky returns the smile, pulling out a chair between Steve and Thor.

Steve enjoys the mindless chatter around the table as they eat, Darcy regaling them with thrilling details about her bartending job downtown and Thor interrupting with booming laughs. Bucky looks relaxed enough, despite the tense, raw conversation upstairs. He knows it’s hard for Bucky to speak up now. Back then, it was Steve who couldn’t keep his mouth shut half the time and Bucky who stood like a silent menace at his side.

He watches with affection as Bucky flirts back at Darcy, who giggles and ignores Jane’s reprimanding hisses. However, he can’t help but notice Bucky keeps the arm hidden under the table, always using his right hand and keeping the hoodie firmly in place. It makes Steve nervous; does Bucky not like the new arm? Is it hurting him?

He thinks asking might set Bucky off, so he avoids it for now.

“I suggest the little lake by the music school.” Darcy insists.

“Yes.” Thor agrees, “It has small shops and glorious paddleboat rides.”

“Thor.” Jane sighs, “Paddleboats are for romantic partners.”

Steve feels his face heat up as Bucky’s face breaks into a sneaky smirk, “I’m on board with that.”

“Bucky!” Steve hisses.

Darcy snickers, “Aw come on Steve, be a good sport and paddle romantically with Bucky across a swan lake.”

“You’re all insane.” Steve grunts, shoving a sandwich into his mouth as the table erupts into laughter.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

They end up paddle boating anyway, the water on the lake reflecting the trees perfectly on its glass surface. The swans float gracefully in its center, avoiding the large bridge that leads to a waterfall.

Steve does most of the work and Bucky can’t help but laugh at Steve’s blushing features. Others around them are paddling too, all couples pausing in mid-paddle to steal soft kisses.

“This is fun.” Bucky says.

“Oh shove it.” Steve snorts, “You hated paddle boating as a kid.”

“Yea it was for _smoochy couples_.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “We’re not smooching.”

Bucky pretends to look hurt, “Aw come on Stevie, I know you bat for the other team, give a guy a peck.” He jokes, feet paddling slower.

He isn’t expecting Steve’s hand to catch him on the chin and bring his face around, warm lips barely brushing his cheek before they’re gone.

His heart is in his throat and he glances wildly at Steve, who is facing firmly forward and paddling them towards the docks. His face isn’t red anymore, just determined and shut off.

A slow smile forms on Bucky’s face, “So _that’s_ how you flirted back.”

Steve punches his arm.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Chimney Rock isn’t as awesome as it was boasted.

The stairs are hilariously man-made and there are too many children squawking about and Steve wants to snap at them to be quiet. Their parents aren’t even trying to keep them silent or remotely in the same area as said adults. However, Bucky looks content enough, water bottle in his left hand and taking a quick swig.

Steve tries not to stare at the way Bucky’s tan throat moves as he swallows said water, even as tiny clear drops leak down his chin and neck. He also tries not to think about the kiss that he quickly aborted to a peck on the cheek. Bucky may have been joking about the smooching in the paddleboat, but Steve spent years yearning to bring Bucky out on the water and kiss him slowly under a setting sun. Especially when he was just figuring out his attraction to men was not as scary as it first seemed.

He’d kept it a secret this long, how could he mess it up so soon after Bucky returned from war?

Bucky didn’t mention it, even after the long, awkward paddle back to shore. However, tension had released as they shopped around and discussed what strange trinkets they should buy for Nat and Sam.

“The air won’t mess with your lungs right?” Bucky asks as they climb up the steps of the mountain.

Steve reaches into the pocket of the black hiking pack on Bucky’s back and pulls out a blue inhaler, “All prepared, just in case.”

Bucky smiles fondly at him as he zips up the bag again and they ascend the steep stairs.

The view is lovely, with miles and miles of rolling mountains and trees alight in fall colors. They take out the lunches Darcy packed for them and eat inside the cool interior of the rock. It’s calming and silent, despite the cocky accent of teenagers racing up the stairs behind them and whimpers of children too tired to go on.

Steve glances at Bucky, who is watching the clouds float luxuriously along the treetops, compass out of his pack and rolling in the palm of his left hand. The shade of the rock casts shadows on Bucky’s young face, but he’s still just as handsome as he had been the day Steve met him. He dressed warm for the altitude, the dark blue hoodie still hiding the metal of his arm; the hand glinted in the shade. But his eyes, oh man, Steve loves his eyes.

People wax poetic about Steve’s eyes, how blue they are, and how like the ocean they seem, but Steve thinks Bucky’s are the bluest. That grey, lagoon-like gaze kept Steve up on his lonelier teenage nights, with a hand down his pajama pants and mouth around a fist to keep from screaming his best friend’s name.

They leave the rock around three, souvenirs tucked away in the backpack and ready for some much-needed rest back at the B and B.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Darcy is sad to see them go, Jane more so as she hugs Steve and makes him promise to call her once he’s home again. Thor extends them another chance to stay should they decide to head back their way. Steve doesn’t bother telling them that’s not part of the plan in front of Bucky.

Dawn is when they say good-bye for the final time, Steve tossing their bags in the truck of the car as Bucky says farewell. Darcy hugs him a second too long, eyes closed blissfully as she feels up his ass.

Steve snorts and climbs into the driver’s seat just as Bucky manages his escape, laughing as he buckles up on the passenger side.

“You have some interesting friends, Steve.” Bucky kicks his feet up onto the dashboard, “I hope we can come back here someday.”

Steve silently agrees.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

“Whose idea was this?” Bucky isn’t quite sure what he’s looking at-scratch that, he knows what he’s looking at, he’s just not sure why he’s looking at it.

“I honestly think this was Clint’s idea.” Steve muses, tilting his head of spiked blonde hair to the left. He looks far too comfortable, hands deep in dark jeans and a white shirt stretched tight across his shoulders.

They’re situated at the edge of the French Quarter, having just left their fancy schmancy hotel for a short stroll that quickly turned into getting lost and standing in front of a voodoo shop. Which Clint had marked with a giant smiley face on the map of New Orleans that Natasha provided.

The air smelt of wet brick and street foods, but near the shop was a strict incense sort of smell that set Bucky’s nose to wrinkle.

“I’m not going in a voodoo shop.” He states firmly.

Steve smirks, “Come on, Buck, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“In the hotel room, where it’s supposed to be.” Bucky hisses, “This city is dangerous.”

“But fun.” Steve counters, lifting a finger, “It won’t hurt to go in. Try new things right?”

“That’s _your_ motto.” Bucky rolls his eyes.

He finds it very hard to say no to Steve, so when 240 pounds of muscle walks into the shop ahead of him, he had no choice but to follow.

The interior of the shop is just as freaky as he imagined, with hanging skulls and alters, dark, smoky incense burning in odd places. It doesn’t help that the male teenager behind the counter is the epitome of the emo fantasy. He’s also not paying attention, face buried in a sleek cell phone and fingers darting across the screen.

“Homey.” Bucky murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, earning him an elbow to the ribs from Steve.

“It’s different.” Steve seems pleased, content even with the state of the shop.

“Yea if you’re into murder and suicide.” Bucky grunts, shoving his hands into the pocket of his ripped jeans. He doesn’t want to touch anything. Heaven forbid. However, Steve looks like a kid in a candy shop, reading the ingredients on gris gris bags, flipping the pages of ancient-looking tomes and even setting a penny on one of the alters. It would be endearing, Steve’s knack for loving everyone’s religions and believing in equality, if it wasn’t so creepy.

They exit the shop before too long and go in search of food. It’s past noon, the sun blazing and the weather humid. Bucky feels like he’s inhaling water with every step they take.

Eventually, they find a road that leads them to Jackson Square, which is beautiful and surrounded by a great black iron gate. The church sits at its level, doors open and welcoming guests in whether mass is going or not. He pulls Natasha’s camera out of their shared pack, snapping pictures of the horseman statute in the center of the square and Steve insists they go inside the church next.

It’s as beautiful on the inside as it is on the outside. Bucky isn’t religious by any means, but it’s hard not to appreciate the care and love built into the cathedral. Steve, bless his catholic raised heart, pleases the other believers as he performs the proper rituals and kneels at the right time, whereas Bucky stands useless behind him trying desperately not to stare at Steve’s ass in those jeans.

He’s going to hell.

Because ever since that innocent kiss Steve surprised him with three days ago, it’s been all downhill. He starts to wonder what a real kiss with Steve would be like. Steve’s big, real big now, taller than Bucky himself and forty pounds heavier. So would he be forceful? Or would he melt against him?

All questions he’ll never have answered. Because Steve may have boned Stark for an entire summer, but that didn’t mean he wanted Bucky in that sense.

Bucky rakes a hand through his hair as they finally exit the church.

Ain’t that a bitch?

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

**  
  
**

They finally decide to have lunch at a tiny outdoor restaurant on Bourbon Street. It’s quiet, with terraced vines hanging above their heads to shield out the baking sun and wrought iron tables to sit at. The menu is short, simple and sweet, full of Cajun delicacies that Steve can’t wait to binge on.

They both order a hand grenade, despite Steve’s own protests that Bucky doesn’t need to be anywhere near an explosive, alcoholic or not. Nevertheless, Bucky convinces him and they happily sip at the strong beverage as they munch on fish, gumbo, and gator.

“Never thought reptile would taste good at all.” Bucky remarks, taking a bite from his gator pasta, “This shit is delicious.”

Steve nods, staring down at this own plate of gumbo and gator pasta, “It’s spicy, but not over powering.”

“Just like mommas.” They both say and it tickles a laugh out of them both.

“You boys alone?” A high-pitched female voice comes from behind them.

Steve glances up from his food just in time to see three pretty blondes and a curvaceous auburn haired woman take a seat at the table on their right. Bucky shoots them a flirty grin, but Steve doesn’t fail to notice the way he tucks the left arm further under the table.

That breaks his heart almost instantly.

“Just takin’ a road trip with my pal,” Bucky sets his good arm on the back of his chair, eyes darting to check out all four of them. Steve pretends to continue eating his food.

“That’s awesome.” The auburn one gasps, “Where are ya’ll from?” her accent is thick, almost too thick, but Steve knows their matching Brooklyn twang can’t be that different.

Bucky flirts easily, turning some of the girls red and gaining equal amounts of flirting back. It makes Steve’s stomach turn and he tries desperately not to look like a jealous boyfriend. Because that is most definitely, what he is _not_. Therefore, he eats his food in silence and waits to see if Bucky will invite one back to their hotel room for the night.

It wouldn’t surprise him. Bucky hadn’t even looked twice at a woman before this trip. First Darcy, now the sensuous babes from New Orleans, it was high time Steve stopped being a possessive dick and gave Bucky some privacy.  

“Want the hotel key?” Steve mummers when Bucky goes to take a bite of his gumbo.

Bucky’s face falls, the flirting exterior gone so fast it gives Steve whiplash, “No.” He replies firmly.

It confuses Steve and the girls, who look disappointed when Bucky turns down their offer to join them down the street for a drink.

After dinner, Steve follows Bucky back to their hotel room, knowing by Bucky’s silence that the day is over.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

His brain is fuzzy.

Feels like cobwebs and the slow, slick churn of water when you can’t reach the surface for air. He remembers the feeling from the constant dunking of his head in buckets of it. Struggling for each breath as rough, grimy hands shoved his face in repeatedly. He can hear the shouts from other prisoners, the demands for Intel from the man with the hand around his neck.

He never told. He couldn’t tell, even if he wanted to. If they didn’t kill him here then he would be just as dead if he returned after spilling military intelligence. Either way, it cost him an arm.

The thought sends searing pain into his shoulder

Someone is shouting, screaming.

Not the prisoners? They spoke broken Russian and Islamic.

“-cky!”

He tries to shake the cobwebs free. Tries to clear the water from his vision but it won’t stop.

_He can’t stop it._

“BUCKY!”

The world jumps into focus like a shock to the brain. His entire body jolts, mouth taking in great lungful’s of air, almost as if he had been drowning.

He can’t say the same for Steve.

His beautiful, kind, caring best friend laid out under him, face red, and gasping his name. And not in the way Bucky’s last few dreams entailed. He can see his own hands, one flesh, and one metal, wrapped around Steve’s neck, those big, tan hands of Steve’s grasping desperately at Bucky’s arms, trying to yank him free.

Bucky tears away instantly, shame and horror rushing through him like a poison as Steve rolls over and coughs violently. That big body heaves over the side of the bed and Bucky feels useless, staring down at his own hands as Steve digs around in the pack to find his inhaler.

_Oh god_.

He _hurt_ Steve.

Panic fills him in a sudden, violent spurt and nausea rolls up his esophagus. He’s darting for the bathroom and emptying the contents of his dinner in the porcelain can in a matter of seconds.

He tries to listen for the sound of Steve using the inhaler, but he can’t hear over his own dry heaving.

He finally hears soft, bare footsteps along the hotel room carpet and he can feel Steve’s gaze on his back.

“Buck?”

He bows his head further over the toilet, not even caring that his long, messy hair is falling in his face and sticking to his sweaty forehead. He feels gross and he clutches the commode tighter, praying Steve will leave him alone.

Instead, he hears the sink turn on and a soft splash before a cold, wet rag is pressed to his forehead. Steve tugs the hair out of his face and another wave of nausea puts his face back in the toilet. It’s excruciating. None of his other panic attacks were this bad and he _never_ let anyone see them.

One of Steve’s big hands presses against his shoulder blades and the warm appendage is welcoming, even if he doesn’t deserve it. His breath hitches and he curls away from the toilet, the rag, and Steve’s kindness.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispers hoarsely, the metal fingers digging painfully into his right arm. The whirling of the metal plates shifting is welcome in the silence, because he knows that the harder he grips, the more painful it will be.

He deserves to be hurt.

“Buck.” Steve’s voice is soft and his fingers are even softer as he reaches forward to push back sweat soaked hair.

Bucky dares to look up at him and those baby blues are so kind it almost makes him sick again. He has no business accepting that kindness. The lines of Steve’s face are relaxed, but worried as he cups the wet rag around Bucky’s neck. He groans despite his minds protest, leaning into the cool feeling.

“There you go.” Steve smiles softly, “Want me to get you some water?”

He nods.

Steve is gone for only a second and then he’s twisting open a bottle of cold water and bringing it to Bucky’s mouth. It doesn’t wash the taste of bile away, but it brings his internal temperature down to a comfortable level.

“Want to tell me what happened?”

He almost shakes his head, but that honest, worried look twists Bucky’s insides like a blender. “Bad dream. Bad memory. Triggered a panic attack.” He sets his metal arm over a bent knee, “Nurses said I’d get them. Doctor did too, before I moved back in with you.”

Steve sighs, “This is why we wanted you to go to the classes.”

“I know.” Bucky trembled, “I just thought I could handle it on my own. The memories, what happened.”

Steve takes his face into those big hands, “The thing is you don’t have to.” He presses a kiss to his forehead and Bucky closes his eyes against the wash of emotion, “I’m with you till the end of the line, Bucky.”

He pulls that large body close, sweaty face buried in Steve’s nightshirt and for the first time since he returned from war, Bucky cried.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

When Steve wakes, it’s to the sun streaming in through the cracks of a curtained window and the steady rise of a body under his arm. He quickly recalls the events of last night and remembers that after a quick shower for Bucky, they decided to share Steve’s bed.

Bucky is fast asleep on his chest, chrome arm bare save for the sleeve of his black shirt and thrown over Steve’s waist. He’s snoring softly, metal fingers curled into the flesh beneath Steve’s ribs and causes his heart to swell in happiness.

He glides his finger through Bucky’s hair and sends up a silent prayer that this moment lasts forever. His other hand moves up to press against his throat, wincing at the tender bruises ringed around it. He wonders if he packed any sweaters.

“Sorry…” Bucky’s voice is muffled by the fabric of Steve’s shirt.

“It’s fine.” Steve smiles, tugging Bucky’s head back, “I’m worried about your healing, not my own.”

Bucky’s blue-grey gaze shutters, but his arms clench tighter, “I don’t want to hurt you in the process.”

Steve ponders his reply, “It’s part of the process. Sam prepared me for this even before-.” He slides his free hand down the length of the bionic arm. The metal is smooth, cool against the flesh of his hand and a thrill shoots up his spine.

“Can you feel it?” He whispers, fingers putting pressure on the wrist at his side.

Bucky blinks sleepily up at him, “I can feel pressure, but it’s not the same.”

Steve continues his exploration, enjoying the quiet sound of the air conditioner and Bucky’s sloe-eyed gaze. The dark mop of hair caught in his right hand is soft, and he continues to rake his own fingers through it, massaging the scalp.

He can feel Bucky’s body melting against him, “Feels good.” The grumble is sleepy and wonderful; it wraps around Steve’s heart and squeezes pleasantly.

“Anything you want to do today?” Steve inquires.

“There’s an aquarium,” Bucky muses, lifting himself onto his right elbow and staring down at Steve’s face.

“Or we could hit the road?” Steve suggests, “I think I’ve had enough of the humidity.” And flirty women, but he doesn’t say that part out loud.

Bucky rolls over onto his back, arms stretching high above his head and back arching. Steve’s mouth goes dry at the sight and he wills his growing erection to cease. “Where to next?”

“Uh.” Steve swallows thickly, “Yellowstone.” It’s not fair. Bucky removes himself from the bed, rolling his shoulders and stretching his new arm. His back flexes under the dark shirt and heat pools in Steve’s belly at the thought of running his hands over that broad back. Bucky turns to him, face curious in the dim light in the room.

“You look like you’re going to eat me.”

It startles Steve to sit up; hoping the tent in his pants isn’t obvious, “I’m gonna go shower.” He pads over to his duffle bag, digging around for clean clothes before heading into the hotels bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

He presses up against the cold wood of the door and releases a puff of air towards the ceiling. It’s gone too far. Bucky is suffering from PTSD and insecure about his arm, even though he won’t admit it and here Steve is imagining that body riding him into the mattress.

He groans and shuffles to the shower, twisting the knobs and waiting patiently as the water grows hot under his hand. He sheds his nightshirt and boxers, enters the cubicle and sighs in a rush at the shock of heat.

He tries to soap up and ignore the throbbing problem between his legs, but it’s insistent and the shifting of Bucky’s muscles, that gorgeous, sleepy look he gave Steve, only causes the need to grow. “Fuck it.” He wraps a firm hand around his cock, letting out a breathy sigh as the pleasure prickles under the surface of his skin.

With strong, even strokes he brings himself off, one hand fisted against the tile of the shower wall, the other beating fitfully around his dick.

The end is bitter sweet.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The long drive up through Louisiana and Arkansas is tense. It’s full of Steve’s tight grip on the wheel and classical music. Bucky could cut it with a knife and it’s driving him crazy.

Steve’s his best friend and if they can’t overcome a little panic attack that turned into sleeping in one another's arms, then they shouldn’t be friends. He beats his head against the seat, turning a sharp glare on Steve as those blue eyes glance over at him in curiosity.

“Why are you acting like this?” Bucky snaps.

Steve jumps, “What do you mean?”

Bucky knows that guilty look; he’s seen it plenty of times. Especially when Steve did something stupidly heroic, like coming home with a black eye and lying through his teeth to Bucky’s face. “It’s like you’re avoiding me, but you’re sitting right there.”

“I just don’t want to overstep…” Steve’s shoulders slump, “I want to help you Bucky, I do. You need support. You need someone; I’m just not sure if that someone is me anymore.”

Bucky’s heart breaks at the tormented look twisting Steve’s features. The man who has always been so sure of himself, so brave and headstrong, looked so lost.  Almost defeated.

“Steve, there isn’t anyone I need more.” He lifts both his hands, staring down at the metal and the flesh, “My head is a mess, and you saw what it does to me when I’m unconscious.” He clenches the bionic fist, hating it for leaving the dark, ugly bruise on the side of Steve’s neck, “Steve-I almost-.”

His vision blurs with tears, causing the metal image of his hand to go wavy, but not before a large, tan hand covers it. The pressure sensors tell him that Steve is squeezing his hand. It’s a comfort and reassurance that Steve would never hold it against him. A few years back, Sam had been in the same boat; Steve knew full well that PTSD was no joke. He’s been just what Bucky needed. He didn’t push, even though it was in Steve’s nature to, Steve was a calm presence in the face of the nightmare and ruin Bucky brought home. He endured the screaming the first few weeks, the cussing and the jumpiness.

Bucky opens the palm of his hand and Steve’s settles against it. The metal appendages wrap gently over the flesh of Steve’s hand, the thrum of the car and the gentle lull of Steve’s music. He brings Steve’s hand to his mouth, pressing a desperate kiss to the knuckles and swallowing back the tears, “You are exactly what I need.”

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

**  
  
**

Natasha was right. Yellowstone National park _is_ gorgeous. It’s rolling hills, lush forests and the faint line of steam in the distance. Steve is excited, his mother had talked about visiting this place, to sit on the bench and watch old faithful erupt, but she died before he could fulfil her wish.

Bucky drives them into the park, it’s cold out, so they both tug on jackets, blue jean for Bucky, leather for Steve.  They pay for their tickets, grab a map and start the adventure. The tension between them dissipated a day ago in Oklahoma. The dingy hotel room they bunked in for the night came with only one bed and they shared it happily.

Now, they’re in freezing Wyoming, in the center of one of the most gorgeous national parks in America. Everything is a breath of fresh air to the senses. The landscape is everything pictures didn’t do justice, it smells fresh with a tinge of sulphur. It tingles in Steve’s nose and as he inhales the mixture with the cold air, a smile breaks out across his face.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs.

Bucky nods in agreement, strolling along the path provided as they follow the maps given to them.

He wants to hold Bucky’s left hand, where in dangles off his shoulder, covered by a jacket and a thin leather glove. The idea is so tempting that it tightens his chest. Bucky held his hand during the car ride, despite the silent sobs and the wet, somber kiss against the back of his knuckles. It broke something loose inside Steve’s heart.

Fifteen years of love and longing spilling over and bleeding into the lines of his face. He was silently glad Bucky was too preoccupied with crying to notice Steve’s love-struck gaze.

Bucky glances behind him, hair shaggy around his face today, instead of back in its normal messy bun, a worried tug to his lips, “You okay?”

Steve puts on a smile, “Of course.”

When Bucky stops walking, face twisted in a look of disbelief, Steve knows he’s been caught, “You have your thinking face on, pal.”

Steve shrugs, “It’s stupid. I’m being stupid in my head.”

“That’s not unusual,” Bucky smirks, punching Steve’s arm with his right hand, “You can tell me.”

He doesn’t think, he just reaches out, snatching the cool leather gloved hand and lacing his fingers through. Shock, confusion, and acceptance rush across Bucky’s face so quick Steve almost doesn’t see them. However, without hesitation, a smile tugs at the corner of Bucky’s mouth and his hand squeezes. The metal has no give, but it doesn’t deter Steve, whose heart is in his throat.

Bucky bumps their shoulders together, “You look like a dork.”

Steve only laughs.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Bucky knows it’s too good to be true; His temporary happiness with Steve.

The handholding and the soft, shared smiles in the car are a glorious high. Not to mention stolen kisses at gas stops, the thrill of making Steve squirm every time they stop for food and Bucky runs the metal hand up the inside of his thigh. Steve makes this gorgeous whimper and his hands tighten around whatever utensil he’s holding and those liquid azure eyes plead for him to stop, but he doesn’t. His grin only widens and the fingers press deeper into the tissue of the leg he’s feeling up.

But as he was saying, it was too good to be true.

They’re at a diner in Utah, Steve hunched over a burger laughing, chocolate milk shake on his left, french-fries on his right. Bucky sits across from him, same hoodie hiding his arm, people tend to stare and it makes him uncomfortable, even with Steve easing into touching it freely.

It happens so fast, the gunman, the waitress that served them going down first in a splatter of blood and screams. Bucky shoves Steve under the table, heart rate doubled as people start panicking and trying to escape. Three more civilians go down before Bucky barrels into the dude.

The man shouts, eyes wild, face hidden by a ski mask and tries to bring the gun to his temple, but Bucky snatches it with his bionic arm and slams it against the tile floor. He hears the sickening crack of bone, but the sound is lost in a haze of red. The man under him is crying, begging him to stop, but he rears his right fist back and knocks him out cold.

The sound of screaming is what comes back first, the haze fading around his vision and chest heaving. He glances around wildly, anguish on his face as he watches a family sob over a dead man, the staff covering the waitress with a tablecloth. The last two bodies turn his stomach sour and he heaves, vomiting on the floor as he scrambles off the gunman and tries to stand.

He hits the stool under the counter and the world goes black.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

_Children._

_All he can see is desert. Hot, humid waves of heat and the screams of a child in the distance. His team is with him, steady and quick, racing against the clock to save the stolen child._

_A gunshot. A woman’s sickening screams._

_He knows they are too late._

-0-0-0-0-0-

Steve’s never felt fear as ice cold as this and how fitting that he feels it once again as he sits beside Bucky’s hospital bed. He looks haggard, tired. He’s already called Natasha and Sam, Tony nearly dropped everything to come and get them, but Steve denied him.

The doctors said Bucky would be fine. He could be discharged as soon as he woke up.

Steve’s hands are still shaking and it’s been over an hour since the attack.

Bucky groans in the bed and Steve is up on his feet in a second, bent over the mattress, “Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes flutter open slowly, body sighing into the mattress when he sees Steve. His right hand lifts slowly, trailing warm down Steve’s cheek, “You okay?”

A shaky laugh erupts, “Me?” Steve asks incredulously, “You took down an armed man and you’re worried about me?”

Bucky winces, “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

A sad look passes over Steve’s face, “You…passed out after seeing the-.” He doesn’t need to finish, Bucky’s face says it for the both of them.

Anger replaces the loss, “He wanted to take his own life,” Bucky spits out, “The coward. He killed two adults and two children and he thought I was just going to let him _check out_.”

Steve takes Bucky’s face between his hands and presses a desperate, needy kiss against his lips. Bucky yields beneath him, right hand grasping tight into Steve’s hair as he cocks his head and deepens the kiss. It’s raw, so much emotion and so much desperation. It astounds Steve and he pulls back, setting his forehead against Bucky’s, “It didn’t have to be you who stopped him, God Buck-I can’t…” he shakes his head and squeezes his eyes closed, “I’m supposed to be the stupid brave one.”

Bucky chuckles, “Just keeping you out of trouble, Stevie.”

Steve’s answering laugh is breathy, “You being in the hospital twice in less than a month is not the answer.”

“Steve.” Bucky’s voice is hard now, firm and without argument. Steve leans away from him, studying that hard gaze as both metal and flesh grip the sides of his neck, “You are the last beautiful thing in my life, Steve. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re never in my place. I’ve been protecting you our entire lives.”

“I can’t lose you.” Steve croaks, “This is the second time.”

“I know.” Bucky whispers, “I _know_ , baby but please, let me be the shield. Protect your friends, protect damsels in distress, it’s who you are, but _pleas_ e let me protect you.”

The words in Steve’s throat are out, raw and hidden for so long, “I love you.”

He watches as Bucky’s chest hitches, blue-grey eyes wide and wondrous, “What?”

“I-.” Steve swallows, “Love you, Buck.”

“Oh thank _god_.” Bucky groans, dragging Steve’s lips against his, open-mouthed and messy, “Fucking-.” He pulls Steve’s tongue into his mouth and fire pools in Steve’s stomach, a moan erupting in its wake. “-love you too, Steve, you punk.”

Steve laughs against his mouth.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

They decide to get a room in hotel in Salt Lake City. It’s Steve’s decision, because he knows that Bucky won’t let him drive the entire way to Malibu without wanting to swap.

Steve orders take-out from the Chinese restaurant menu on the room’s desk while Bucky takes a hot shower.

Standing under the rushing water is a welcome solitude; it gives Bucky time to think about the last day and the last two weeks of their vacation. How long had Steve kept those feelings inside? Years and years, they’d been friends and he felt grief for his best friend, for all those times he forced a smile and went on a double date. When he didn’t even like women.

He just wanted to be with Bucky.

Bucky sighs, rinsing the soap out of his hair and turning the shower off.

He doesn’t even bother putting clothes on. He walks out of the bathroom, hair dripping on the carpet and naked as the day he was born.

“Hey the food will be here in fifteen-.” Steve drops his cellphone and it hits the floor with a loud crack. Bucky smirks, leaning his shoulder into the wall and slowly crossing his arms over his chest. He knows exactly what he looks like to Steve, whose jaw drops open and face turns a brilliant shade of red.

“Uh…Buck what are you-.”

“Figured I’d give you a head start.” He stalks to Steve, hands reaching out to grip the bottom of Steve’s shirt and yank it over his head. Steve follows willingly, his own hands gripping Bucky’s waist and yanking him forward so their bare chests touched.

Bucky wasted no time in forming their mouths together.

The kiss is hot, too hot and Bucky drowns in the taste of Steve, who groans and tightens his grip on Bucky’s sides.

They stumble into the bed together, Bucky’s back against the annoying red comforter and Steve astride his hips. Bucky’s metal arm works desperately at the fly of Steve’s jeans, yanking it open, reaching inside and pulling Steve’s hard cock from its confinement.

Steve bends over him and moans, breathing hard and chest heaving as one hand fists in the cover beside Bucky’s head. Bucky doesn’t go slow, even though he wants to wring the pleasure out, have Steve writhing on the bed beneath him, but it’s too hot, too desperate. He wraps the metal hand around both of their cocks, spreading pre-come and the slick of the lotion Bucky coated it with on them both.

Steve whimpers, hips jerking and eyes clenched shut against the pleasure.

“Fucking gorgeous.” Bucky groans, tightening his grip and giving them both a long, slow tug of his wrist, “Dreamed of you while I was overseas.”

Steve shakes his head, thrust his hips into Bucky’s hand, “Don’t-don’t lie.”

Bucky uses his free hand to yank Steve’s mouth to his own, he sinks his teeth into the bottom lip and tugs, and Steve lets out a moan so obscene it causes Bucky’s balls to draw up in preparation for orgasm. “Ain’t got no reason to lie Steve.” He growls, yanking at the hair on the base of Steve’s neck, “Kept a picture of you in my uniform, used it on my lonely nights. Only wanted you. Missed you every fucking day.”

Steve cries out, dick pulsing out his orgasm at the confession, his body shivers above Bucky’s own, back arched and face contorted in pleasure. Bucky hisses, his own release bursting forth between them, whiting out his vision, and sending his brain for a spin.

They lay in the aftermath panting, Steve’s big body squishing him into the mattress, breathing finally steadying out as Bucky strokes his flesh hand down the length of his back.

“Never lie to you.” He presses a wet kiss to Steve’s temple, “You’re not the only one who pined for fifteen years.”

Steve chuckles against his neck, finally pushing himself up and staring down in wonder, “Really?”

Bucky shrugs, “We were both daft idiots.”

Steve sighs happily and lowers his head back down to Bucky’s shoulder, “We should shower. Food’ll be here soon.”

“Mmm agreed.” Bucky nods.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

_Malibu 30 miles_

It feels like the end, but it really isn’t.

He has Bucky on his left, bionic arm on the steering wheel; right held tight to Steve’s over the center console. He knows the trip didn’t fix everything. It won’t fix the nightmares or the horrors of war, but it put a new smile on his best friends face. The relaxed gait of his shoulders and the soft, barely there smile settled on his lips.

It’s the most beautiful thing Steve has seen the entire trip.

The compass Bucky’s father gave him and he had given to Bucky, hidden for most of the trip, tucked away in the bottom of Bucky’s pocket, is on the dashboard, shinning under the California sun.

It’s a message to Steve.

It means Bucky is no longer lost.

**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**

**Author's Note:**

> If you know someone with PTSD, please be kind. Be patient. Be a friend. 
> 
> Thank you for reading everyone, I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
